


Snow Barricades

by 3lys3



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Seine, Slight Period-Typical Homophobia, sorry it got out of hand for the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3lys3/pseuds/3lys3
Summary: Javert and Jean Valjean stumble upon a snowball fight during one of their weekly walks.
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Snow Barricades

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Des Barricades en Neige](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22227253) by [3lys3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3lys3/pseuds/3lys3). 



> It took me years to finish the French version, and a few months the English one (and I still changed a few stuff while writing the English one).  
> I’m open to any remarks!

Like every Sunday, Jean Valjean and Inspector Javert would go out before lunch and take a walk in the streets of Paris. They would rarely talk during these outings and rather enjoy the nice weather and the calm in the streets. Valjean and Javert were used to the lively and buzzing city. The former felt safer in the crowd of busy people, the latter thrived when he could stake all the inhabitants while being himself in the shadow. But on Sundays, they could enjoy Paris bathing in a calm joy, the young couples strolling, the tenants taking a day off and chatting with each other, the families going to church.

Javert and Valjean did not want to experience other massacres like the revolution nipped in the bud that happened almost six months before. By seeing Paris today, who would have thought that soldiers had invaded the paving stones to counter students full of ideals the previous summer?

But this folk that the revolutionaries wanted to free had already forgotten the tragic event. The people were happy enough with their current situation, as long they had bread on the table and extra meat on Sunday. History could repeat itself in endless cycles and there would always be idealists trying to put society back on the right path. Yet at the end of the line, without people’s backing, a revolution and its lost souls could fall in the indifference of society.

However, this terrible night was still in Javert and Valjean’s mind, lone survivors of the barricade _rue de la Chanvrerie_ , alongside Valjean’s future son-in-law, Marius Pontmercy. Valjean had gone to save Cosette’s young beloved and had the fortuitous occasion to save Javert as well from certain death. Now the two old men were friends and even lovers, after Valjean saved Javert once more on that night, but this time from the Seine.

Not keen on bad surprises if they could avoid them, the couple followed the same path each week. The first months after Javert’s recovery, they only stayed on the left bank of the river. Not only because walking more than thirty minutes was tiring him, but also because crossing the Seine by foot was still too unbearable to him.

Today, like the last few Sundays in the fall, they had been walking for one hour by following the _boulevard Saint-Germain_ and had crossed the Seine at the _pont Neuf_ to finally continue on _rue de Rivoli_. Thus they arrived at the _place Royale_ at around ten o’clock. The square was usually calm, as it was the place to be for the French high society.

But that day, first time of the year when snow was finally falling, was a day of happiness for the youngest Parisians. Rich or poor, literate or already helping their parents to feed the family, the children wanted to play in the snow.

That is why Valjean and Javert found themselves in front of a scene of total chaos. Children were shouting, others were lying immobile. We could see a ferocious smile on the face of some still standing. All of them were covered with snow in the hair and dry mud on their clothes. The children were roughly split into two teams, sheltered by makeshift protections in snow or behind square benches and were attacking each other. Snowballs were flying everywhere.

At first, the two men superimposed the scene with the much more sordid one of the June rebellion which had ended in a bloodbath. The children reminded them of the students and the soldiers that were killed without an afterthought. The half destroyed barricade was resurrecting behind the heaps of snow on the brink of collapse.

After recovering from his shock, Valjean softened and smiled. He turned his thoughts to Cosette. He had done everything for her to open up and blossom, or at least for her not to suffer from her stay at the Thernardiers anymore. The days of winter had once rimed with lonesome trips in the woods carrying water buckets while facing unknown dangers. Then over the years, December became synonymous with happy days for Cosette. She had finally been able to be a child, playing with her doll Catherine and eating her fill, in the warmth of a house full of love.

Valjean had been the only playmate for Cosette ever. They always went to the Luxembourg garden on the first days of snow, and enjoyed throwing snowballs at each other or building snowmen. But after growing up, she did not have the same hobbies anymore and turned to more frivolous activities. Even if he was sixty-four, he missed all this childish and innocent joy playing in snow.

Javert, on the other hand, was attempting to show an unconcerned face about the scene in front of him. But his short breathing was an indication that his mind was stuck in the past.

_Closed faces covered with blood._

_Lifeless and dislocated bodies._

_The Seine that was swallowing him._

Javert had forgotten the children playing. He felt himself drowning. The snow was melting and engulfing him.

He did not have childhood memories to soften these pictures, unlike Valjean. He had never participated in a snowball fight, as he had nobody with whom to play as a boy, and he would certainly not begin now in his advanced age.

However, Jean Valjean had observed that the inspector was stiff, even more than usual, and that his eyes were wildly moving all around.

“Javert? Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? You look a bit pale…”

“I am well, Valjean!”

Jean Valjean turned completely to face Javert and studied him a few seconds, ignoring his harsh tone. Javert looked like he was close to having another crisis.

Javert could sometimes stay amorphous a whole day. He would eat nothing by himself, let Valjean move him around, gazing into space with a tortured face. During these bad periods, he would sometimes not recognize his companion, or seeing the old man would torment him even more, claiming that he had failed his duty by wrongly reporting _Monsieur le Maire_. Other times, he would on the contrary call him by his prisoner number. The first time that happened, Valjean became white as a sheet and escaped to his room, letting Javert alone. But the next few times, Valjean overcome his old wounds that were reopening by reminding himself that Javert needed him and did everything he could to help him.

The day after these horrible moments, after a night full of nightmares, Javert would come back to his senses but feel even guiltier and more miserable than before and would always ask Valjean for forgiveness. The latter would immediately try to appease him, without a sign of sadness or regret.

But luckily, the crisis had been decreasing for two months. The inspector’s way of viewing the world had changed since the barricades and he was learning to get used to it. What was fair before was now despicable, what he had thought evil or impossible was just and kind. Men could change and become good – Valjean was the perfect example. He hoped he could do the same.

But this transition was difficult, Valjean knew it too well. He tried to help him as best as he could during this crucial time of his life, when he himself had nobody in the world, apart from Monseigneur Bienvenu.

Valjean was not sure how he could help his companion at the moment. The inspector already had a crisis out of their house when they first tried to cross the Seine. But this was not like his usual meltdown. Javert was indeed pale and motionless, but he still seemed to have control of himself. He was breathing slowly and deeply as if to calm himself and had now the eyes looking firmly in front of himself. Valjean guessed that like himself, Javert must have superimposed the June barricades on top of the current snowball fight.

The old man was going to suggest to go back the way they came from when a snowball hit him in the back. He turned as a voice shouted: “Sorry, M’sieur. I was aiming at Jacquot!”

Valjean half turned to the voice. A twelve or thirteen-year-old boy was pointing at a group of children on Valjean’s right side. The latter, as always when in public, was showing a benevolent face, but we could see a small mischievous gleam in his eyes. “ _After all_ ”, he thought, “ _this snowball fight could help Javert to overcome his fears. This summer’s uprising is over, let’s hope this game is going to soften our memories of it._ ”

He turned to the group of children and claimed loud and clear, while smiling:

“Well, where are you Jacquot? Don’t you think we deserve revenge?”

With a last glance to Javert, as if to ask him for permission and to check his current state **,** he prepared a snowball and aimed at the boy who had hit him in the back. In addition to his superhuman strength, he was agile as well. He touched his attacker’s shoulder who was running in the opposite direction and laughing. Then he launched himself into the fight.

The snowball hitting Valjean and the ensuing exchange had snapped Javert out of his mind. He was going to stride toward and reprimand the boy when Valjean stopped him in his tracks. Javert then looked at Valjean rushing to one of the clusters of children with raised eyebrows, but swallowed his surprise quickly. He let Valjean enjoy himself, although he did not understand the point of these foolish games where you ended up wet with too high a chance of catching a cold. But he knew that the old man missed Cosette and this little game must have reminded him of his daughter when she was but a child. Now, they quickly found their complicity again the rare times – for Valjean – they would see each other, which was twice a week. But Cosette had simply grown up and married. She was even with child herself.

Javert moved to the side, waiting for Valjean to finish playing. The former mayor was always particularly kind with children. The street gamins playing in the snow had immediately adopted him, even if he looked like a bourgeois. His sober but of good quality outfit showed the financial comfort Valjean was now living in. But unlike the other rich men, he did not despise them, he was not afraid of getting messy with mud to enjoy himself and he spoke to them on equal footing. All the children were relaxed around him and considered him as a one-day friend.

In contrast, they took care to avoid Javert. Like usual, the inspector was staying in the shadow, alone, and was watching all these people, without partaking in the festivities. But he struggled not to intervene when he saw one of the snow barricades fall. The events of the 5 and 6 of June were still fresh in his mind. He now regretted not being able to save these lives, be they soldiers or revolutionaries. He had to rectify his mistakes to make sure that these gamins would have a better future.

Javert had indeed changed, the law was no longer the absolute end to follow, but rather a mean – still imperfect – to improve society. He finally understood that these revolutionaries wanted to change the world for the better, but their way was reprehensible.

Javert was still in his thoughts when suddenly a snowball smashed onto his face. He immediately turned his eyes to the gamins in front of him. All of them realized by magic what had happened, hold their breath and stood still, frightfully waiting for the inspector’s reaction. His face was unreadable, while observing the suspects one by one, but he was surprised and fuming internally against himself for losing his attention. Then he heard a discrete laugh on his right. He quickly turned his head and saw Valjean with his warm look, but also a malicious smile. There! Once again, the culprit was Jean Valjean!

Javert then crouched slowly, took a handful of snow. It had a weird and cold texture, but he kept gathering it. He had never really had snow in his hands, merely dusting his coat when it snowed.

He heard Valjean’s laughter getting stronger, as if he were provoking him, and he was going to fight back.

Valjean was surprised by Javert’s attack. As a worthy representative of the Police, he had thrown the snowball perfectly. It landed on his head, cutting him in his laugh.

Valjean had not been sure that the so serious Inspector of the Parisian Police would respond to his challenge and would stoop to trivial activities. At first he even had to drag Javert to go take a stroll. By the way, the latter would never admit to having taken a liking to these moments of tranquillity alongside his companion. But he would always play hard to get – even if he felt guilty of his selfishness. Knowing that for each walk, Valjean preferred to have him by his side warmed his heart.

Javert was now allowing himself more leniency and the old man was glad of that. Even if it was in a trivial way, it showed that Javert was opening himself to the world and to new experiences in life.

The two adults were now on opposite teams, fully immersed in the game. Valjean would regularly steal a glance at Javert. He did not know exactly what was motivating his friend to participate in the snowball fight, but he was glad to see him interacting with children – and not as an Inspector. But Valjean and all the children could nevertheless sense in him the remarkable aura of the hunter pouncing on his prey when he threw his snowballs with precision and concentration.

Valjean was playing without trying to win. He would take some snow from the ground, shape it into a more or less hearty heap and throw it against one of the other children. He would smile when a snowball would hit its target, and would laugh even more when someone managed to touch him.

But on the other side, Javert was already explaining a strategy to the children who were looking at him with a lack of comprehension but also a touch of respectful fear and admiration. When he gave tasks to each one of them, they understood that this man could give them the victory – without knowing exactly what the rules to win were in this unexpected game and who was in which team. They followed his instructions, applying themselves to aiming at the right people, at the right time, while enjoying themselves.

Valjean was trying to help his team, he protected them and was ready to sacrifice himself to prevent them from catching a cold. He would sometimes run towards them to receive the snowballs instead of the children.

But the other gamins took back the upper hand under Javert’s leadership. Javert did not hide behind his commander role. On the front line, while organizing the attacks, he aimed and shoot straight, especially at Valjean. But he was himself the victim to the opponent’s projectiles. With his imposing stature and his dark blue coat that was contrasting against the white snow, he looked invincible and was an easy target for Valjean’s team, allowing his gamins to sneak and efficiently counter attack.

Valjean had somehow been able to fend for himself with honour, but Javert’s perfect organization ended the game within ten minutes. It was obvious that Javert’s team had the upper hand since his involvement, with his barricades still standing and the children on his team a bit less covered in snow and mud.

All the snow on the _place Royale_ had been used, brownish water was trickling from and coating some windows on the ground floor and the leafless bushes in the square. The fluffy snow in which the children had been jumping mere hours ago while listening to the satisfying sound of snow creaking had disappeared. It had instead flowed into the gutters or was spread on the children’s clothes and hair.

The two adults had not been spared. They were completely wet; snow was covering them from head to toe. But Valjean was most to be pitied. By taking the projectiles intended for the other children and by getting chased by the inspector in particular, he was without a doubt the biggest victim in this snow carnage.

But it was worth it, Valjean thought, seeing the slight smile of his companion. The Inspector only allowed himself to smile in private, or at least, when he thought that nobody was watching. In the middle of the square, surrounded by the children shouting excitedly and already looking for another game, the two old men were smiling broadly while catching their breath. Javert could not look away from his companion’s face, surrounded by a halo of snow crystal which were shining in his white fluffy hair. He looked more than ever like a saint.

But suddenly Valjean sneezed. Javert rushed to his side with a face turned serious again.

“I knew you would fall ill, and all of that for ten minutes of fun!” he scolded.

“Come on, Javert. I am still strong, it is not a little bit of snow that is going to hurt me”, said Valjean smiling reassuringly.

Javert looked at him suspiciously when he sneezed himself.

“Ha, but _you_ will catch a cold”, Valjean teased.

“I have a long coat and a scarf, unlike you ; I am not going to fall ill. Let’s go home immediately, Valjean.”

“But the children! They need money and a warm place to dry off. Or _they_ will catch a cold!”

“And you too, if we don’t go home now.”

Valjean dismissed his plea.

Javert sighed. Only Valjean could compete him with stubbornness. And lately _he_ was the one to give up. On the one side he was uncompromising with his colleagues and subordinates, on the other side, Valjean had full power over him. But sadly it was not as if the latter was taking advantage of it during their nights in bed.

“Give your damn money, Valjean, and let’s go home.”

Of course, his companion took all his time to make sure that every child would receive his coin. Javert was becoming impatient but did not protest. He knew that this was important for him, Valjean was someone good now. He felt himself a bit guilty of standing still by his side, monitoring that no gamin was trying to abuse his companion’s generosity and steal from him. Even if he was more lenient than before, that did not stop him from protecting his friend. Besides he had never been at ease with acts of kindness. The Inspector was back.

On the way back, Valjean kept sneezing and Javert insisted to pass him the scarf that his companion had gifted him a mere month ago for Christmas, despite his protests.

“Of all the years I have known you, Valjean, I have never seen you ill! I should never have got dragged into this puerile game and rather had stopped you from carrying it on, old man. We should call a cab and go back home now.”

“Come on, we don’t need a cab. This game has invigorated me and we had never taken one for our walks. By the way, I don’t see any now.”

Valjean pretended to look left and right, but he knew that there was no cab. They were in an empty street right now.

“If you want to be stubborn, at least, put this scarf before you get even sicker.”

“It was worth it. Remember their smiling faces, despite the cold! Now, they will be able to warm themselves and eat their fill. And you know that I can’t accept. It is your scarf.”

“They were very well having fun without you intervening”, Javert grumbled.

“Definitely, but I think that someone else also needed this small game”, Valjean said turning his eyes towards Javert and raising an eyebrow.

“Me? I didn’t need it!” Javert denied a bit too quickly. “And don’t change the subject! As it is my scarf, I do as I want with it. You need it more than me.”

Javert did not let Valjean answer and proceeded to put the deep carmine red scarf himself. He stopped in the middle of the empty road, forcing his companion to stop as well. He turned to the older man. They were facing each other, with barely ten centimetres between their chest.

Javert removed the scarf from his neck, folded it in two, then placed it on Valjean’s nape. The latter had his eyes fixed on Javert, the cheeks slightly pink – from the cold or from an inner and pleasant warm that was coming from his stomach, he could not tell.

Javert was holding the two ends of the scarf, slipped one of the sides in the loop of the other. He was trying to concentrate on his task, not daring to look Valjean in the eyes. His eyes were rather fixed onto a square of white skin between the scarf and the now wet coat. He wanted to undo the coat and the work he had just done to caress this soft surface as much as possible.

But suddenly Valjean cleared his throat and Javert looked up to the man whose cheeks were even redder than before. Their bodies were now touching, without either of them realizing that one of them had made a step forward. Javert wanted to kiss him, but he retreated. It would not be wise nor tasteful to exercise physical affection in public.

Javert finally hid the square of skin by closing the collar of the coat and smoothing the scarf one last time. But his burning gaze was promising Valjean more than enjoyable times after they would be back at the _55 rue Plumet_ and he resumed walking without a word at an accelerating pace. Valjean smiled then followed the Inspector. He no longer felt cold.

They resumed their walk without another hitch and arrived at home after around twenty minutes. Jean Valjean had invited Javert to stay live with him, after he had recovered from his pneumonia caused by his short, but unforgettable stay in the Seine. Officially, Javert had taken Toussaint’s old room. In reality, he warmed himself next to his companion during the night.

Sadly, when they opened the front door of their home, only the cold welcomed them. The fire in the fireplace from the previous day was finally extinguished. The two men living sparingly, they did not see the use in rekindling it in the morning. Shivering, they changed themselves quickly into thick and dry clothes in their bedroom. They would not be going out for the rest of the day and would be enjoying a well-deserved rest.

But Valjean kept sneezing and sniffling – the Inspector’s scarf had not saved him from the cold. Javert on his side was not as sick as his participation in the improvised game was smaller. Mainly, he had not sacrificed himself under the snowball avalanche for the gamins in his team.

Javert was determined to take care of his companion and got busy preparing tea for the both of them. Their quick lunch was consisting in leftovers from the day before – some potatoes and vegetables, in addition to a slice of bread with cheese; they did not see the point of lighting the heater for so little. But it would still be nice for Valjean to drink something hot.

At this last thought, Javert paused suddenly to reflect, as he was going to remove the water boiler from the heater and pour the water. Never would he have thought a few months ago that he would be preparing tea and taking care of someone, let alone of Jean Valjean.

So many things had changed since that fateful night last summer. Javert was now a different man, thanks to Jean Valjean. None of his deeds could redeem himself with this saint he hurt so much. These everyday acts when Valjean was not taking care of himself – lending him a scarf or preparing him some tea – were the minimum he could do, but they were never going to be enough. Valjean refused to accept more, so Javert could only be forever thankful to him.

As a thank you, Jean Valjean compelled him to enjoy the pleasures of life, when he himself led a life of austerity. Both of them were beginners in terms of physical pleasures, but they were delighted to learn together. Javert allowed himself to eat a bit more his fill, to leave sooner the police station the days even the criminals were taking a rest – after all, he had now someone to go back to in the evening now.

Javert finished filling the cups and put them on the kitchen table where Jean Valjean was sitting waiting for him with the plates of food. Both of them kept their focus on their tea, their hands glued to their cup, neglecting the meal for now. The liquid warmed the two men and Jean glanced at Javert gratefully.

The latter was still in his thoughts. Thanks to the man in front of him, every day he was discovering a new aspect of life, whether they be from their frequent philosophical discussions on ethics and justice, or from seeing the grateful and hopeful faces when Valjean was giving a coin to these unlucky children before they were reduced to commit crimes.

The young boys who were playing the snowball fight were not hardened criminals yet, even if he was no fool and knew that they regularly stole food. With the good environment and opportunities, they could become honest men who could fully contribute to society. Now, Inspector Javert understood that the police – and the government as a whole – should not only punish when needed, but also help the members of society and prevent crime from being perpetrated by removing the need for crime at first.

Sadly, the society was not ready for more major reforms yet, as shown by his letter to the Police Prefecture which led to nothing but mockery, and by the last summer uprising nipped in the bud. Not that he agreed with the young students who wanted a utopic world of freedom, equality, justice and peace – which would have begun in a bloodbath – but their reasons were maybe understandable.

But Javert was once again seeing the face of the students in those of the gamins at the snowball fight. He knew the name of neither, but acknowledged that they could have been useful to society, in other conditions.

These gamins had few chance of making an honest living, Javert did not want to sweep that under the carpet. He had helped half of them win the snowball fight (he would never confess that he was proud of winning against Jean Valjean); but he might certainly have to arrest some of them in the future. Having been a gamin on the streets himself, he was aware that the path to righteousness and society, especially when one’s had his ethnic background, was full of obstacles. And he now understood that surviving without committing any crime was all the more difficult when you had more than one hungry belly to fill.

In a way, both groups of young people had been abandoned by society. In the name of the deceased students and of Jean Valjean, he would endeavour to bring justice, with the future of the gamins in mind. While they would not deviate too much from the right path, he would try to prevent them from ending in the same way as the students and the one gamin who had recognized him at the barricades, all killed by a society that was not as just and logic as he had thought.

Javert was roused from his thoughts by Valjean who advised him to eat; he had already begun himself, after having emptied his cup. While looking at Valjean, this man full of kindness, the cheeks still slightly pink and with a glint in the eyes, eating with enthusiasm, the inspector strengthened his resolution. In the name of justice and with the help of his companion, he would try to have a bit more understanding and compassion towards the miserables of society.

Then maybe he would finally become a good man and would redeem himself with Jean Valjean and the other victims of his former blind cruelty.

**Author's Note:**

> I know JVJ and Cosette lived at the couvent and had less freedom to play (I forgot at the beginning, oops), but I’ll take the liberty to make them live happily in Paris, as I think the couvent is not mentioned in the musical.  
> I often switched pov, I hope it’s not confusing. And I might have put a bit too much political thinking in it, but at the same time, Les Mis is political.   
> I'm sorry if I didn't represent well Javert's PTSD, I didn't do much research on that to check if it was realistic.


End file.
